Tag Archives: random

I Can Drive 55

Even if I’ve done nothing wrong, my heart still jumps into my throat any time I either see a police car in my rearview mirror or drive by one running radar on the side of the road.


It doesn’t help when commercials or songs have sirens in them either, but that’s not my point.

My point is that I have nothing but respect for law enforcement—my dad was a cop and various family members/friends still are—but when I’m driving, it scares the crap out of me to see them on the road.

There’s really no reason for this paranoia.

I am normally a very law-abiding driver, give or take a few road rage urges from time to time, and I’ve only had one ticket in my 14 years of (legally) driving. It came when I was in high school after I unsuccessfully argued that there was no way my piece of shit Ford Escort could actually go 70 mph without spontaneously combusting.

The officer didn’t seem to care. 

Aside from that $80 misunderstanding, I was also pulled over two other times in college in the same exact spot in the same week—both times when I was skipping class, which should have been a sign. But that’s not important, as no ticket was issued either time.

However,  now every time I pass a cop and I’m actually going the speed limit, I feel like I should get some sort of extra credit or build up a stack of bonus points that I can cash in on those days I might not be going the speed limit, hypothetically speaking, of course.

This hasn’t caught on yet, but there’s still hope.

I bring this up because there has been an interesting development recently concerning the speed limits on a few of the roads in my area. They have raised them without telling anyone, and by “anyone,” of course I mean me.

There are a couple stretches of road that have been set at 35 mph and 45 mph respectively for as long as I can remember, and quite honestly, that was kind of a ridiculous expectation. Most people—not me, of course—went 45 in the 35 and at least 50 in the 45.

These stretches of road were also popular speed traps.

But as I was driving along the other day, I noticed that people were flying by me a bit more than normal. After mentally performing a citizen’s arrest, I caught sight of the speed limit sign, one that seemed to have gained 10 mph since the last time I took note.

speed limit

What? How is this not broadcast on the news? Did I miss a memo?

It seems the powers that be either tired of having to hear bullshit excuses from people being pulled over in this area or finally realized the ridiculousness of their “speed suggestions” and changed the speed limits. This delighted me, not because I want to speed, but because it just seems to make more sense.

But the truth?

Now that the law has been changed, I feel like a total rebel badass and purposely go that route at times just so I can legally zoom down the streets a good 10 mph faster than I’ve been able to do in the past. People who haven’t been as observant as yours truly stare at me as I whiz by, most likely praying I get caught in the speed traps so often set on this stretch.

But little do they know that I will NOT be caught in this trap, as I am simply abiding by the new speed suggestions. Yes, now I can legally drive 55 without crapping kittens* if I pass a cruiser poised on the side of the road sticking something that resembles a hairdryer out of his/her window.

*OK. That’s not true. My heart will still jump into my throat, but that kind of detracts from the badass-ness I am trying to exhibit here.

I was born to be wild.

So spill it. How’s your driving?

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Word Search Vol. 2

If you weren’t around for the first Word Search post, you missed out on the fact that people evidently find my blog by searching  phrases like “Bedazzled yoga pants with garlic” and “Your lizard looks a little limp,” among other things.

This was so fun last time that I think I need to make it a monthly event, mostly just because it makes me giggle, and sometimes I just want to use the word “giggle.”

Plus, I need to lighten things up after my last post, and what better way to do that than to share the fact that people found my blog by searching “cleaning the kitchen floor naked with squirrels?”


This is what you get when you Google “naked squirrels,” in case you were wondering, which I’m sure you weren’t.

Sorry to disappoint whoever that was, but given my OCD and the fact that they have sharp little toe nails, no squirrels will set one little furry rodent foot inside my kitchen. They can watch the naked cleaning through the dining room window just like everybody else.

So without further ado, here is this month’s batch of WTF search terms:

  • Groping girls in yoga pants
  • Pictures of elderly people in wheelchairs having a sock hop at nursing facility
  • Popcorn you make in your pants
  • Grandma smokes weed every day and tells me it’s not addictive
  • The broccoli meant a lot to the starfish
  • It’s a smartass Abby thing (Editor’s note: touché)
  • Ho ho ho seriously she works that mistletoe like a pro
  • How to plate pencil asparagus in fine dining
  • Nude gnomes digestive system
  • The Lexus December to remember we’re poor and miserable
  • Most comfortable underwear for wedgie prone women
  • I bet your screen doesn’t have a cookie on it
  • Bitch, I know you ate the last piece of chicken (Editor’s note: this one came up four times. Again, I do not eat meat. Let it go and simmer down.)
  • Your ass won’t run itself off
  • Elderly thong bingo
  • You better hurry up and start being awesome because I’m not waiting for you

And finally, this last one is going to become my motto for life:

I’m not only putting on my big girl panties, I’m putting on my bitch bra and my shit kicker boots.

Amen, sister.

Like the blog? Put on your big girl (or guy) panties and

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Word Search

I have a post almost ready about how the appliances in my house are plotting against me, but I decided to hold off on publishing that for a couple days.

Why? Partly because I’m waiting to see if my vegetable steamer does in fact mock me again tonight, but also because I want to share some of the search terms that people have used to find my blog.

Other bloggers do posts like this all the time, and although I present a “top five” list on my Facebook page a couple of times a month, I’ve never actually shared them with the masses (all 10 of you.)

I probably wouldn’t have this time either, but when I saw “Bedazzled yoga pants with garlic,” I was freaked out by the fact that someone knew exactly what I was going to be doing this weekend.

Unfortunately, not all the other search terms are quite as accurate—I swear I’ve never written about “Chef Ramsey demotivational training bras” before, despite that suggestion—but they’re entertaining. With that said, here’s a few from the past couple of weeks.

  • Don’t complicate your life with unnecessary thongs
  • Do you like my gnome babushka?
  • I look better after a few drinks
  • Good night, smart ass
  • When having a bad day, remember Daniel Tosh’s titties
  • Naked grocery clerks with nunchucks
  • How do you politely ask a dental hygientist not to use a dental bib?
  • The grass is always greener, underneath my wiener
  • Your pee stinks T-shirt
  • Story of small woodland creatures waking up in purple thongs
  • Hippie gnome’s winter coat
  • Bitch, I know you ate the last piece of chicken
  • Your lizard looks a little limp
  • Somebody staple the talk hole on that bitch
  • Can I hot wax my own face?
  • Unicorn erectile dysfunction and Scrabble porn
  • Senior citizens don’t take any carp (not a typo—they used “carp”)

And if you are the one who found my blog by searching “It’s not my job to blow sunshine up your ass,” please reveal yourself.

We need to be friends.

Now if you don’t mind, I have to go bedazzle my yoga pants and put purple thongs on the squirrels in my backyard.

Obviously the public demands it. 

Being “Punctual”

Because my goal in life is to “educate” the masses about all the unimportant things that I find tedious, today we will “discuss” something very “important” that I think we all need to “address.”

The “overuse” of quotation marks.

I could go into my abhorrence of exclamation points, but we’ll save “that” for another time!

While this is obviously a written medium and you’re reading what I write, the overuse of quotation marks is not limited to the “written” word. Oh no, the overuse of “air quotes” is also running rampant.


It’s a “laser.”

If you’re not familiar with “air quotes,” I have included the Wikipedia definition below:

“Air quotes, also called finger quotes, are virtual quotation marks formed in the air with one’s fingers when speaking. This is typically done with hands held shoulder-width apart and at the eye level of the speaker, with the index and middle fingers on each hand flexing at the beginning and end of the phrase being quoted.The air-quoted phrase is generally very short—a few words at most—in common usage, though sometimes much longer phrases may be used for comedic effect.”

What they don’t say is that the use of air quotes is generally done in a “sarcastic” manner, a way to “attempt” grammatical justification of a jab.

“So, I hear that you’re a writer” has a  much different tone than, “So, I hear that you’re a ‘writer.’”

The first statement has a fairly neutral tone, at least until I add in a few dashes of skepticism and judgment that probably weren’t intended but that I implied. However, the second one seems to imply that being a “writer” is a “dubious” distinction. 

Side note: That may very well be the case, but I’m not picking on writers. Feel free to sub in “singer,” “actress” or any other profession that I have no talent for doing and that would require the use of sarcastic and judgmental air quotes.

Anyway, the proliferation of air quotes and quotation marks in general got me “thinking,” and I tweeted that my new goal in life (after educating the masses about all the unimportant things that I find tedious and eating a meal without spilling on myself) is to find a way to have “air parentheses” and “other” forms of punctuation catch on the way “air quotes” have.

Why do quotes get all the love?

  • It’s hard to describe “air parentheses,” but just imagine that every time you wanted to set off a list or include an aside (as I am often prone to doing,) you made big curving arcs with your arms.
  • In case your tone makes, “You’re pregnant” indistinguishable from “You’re pregnant?” you could take one arm and act out the curvy part of a question mark like in a sassy “talk to the hand”-type gesture, accenting it with a punch at the bottom.
  • Amy suggested that “air ellipses” could be like repeated poking of the air with index fingers on either side and Jess suggested using “air commas” to emphasize your need to pause between phrases and clauses.  For this one, I’m envisioning a parade/beauty queen scooping-type wave.
  • “Air colons” would be acted out like a boxer’s one-two punch, a quick jab-jab to let people know you’re starting a list or an explanation that is preceded by a clause that can stand by itself.
  • We wouldn’t have to worry about the “air semicolon,” as no one knows how to use those anyway.

So even though most of you are only subject to “reading” my words and punctuation—and I can promise that exclamation points will always be used minimally!—if you see me in person, feel free to implement “air punctuation.”

Because while I find the overuse of “air quotes” rather tedious, I’m totally looking forward to someone trying to implement the “air ampersand.”


Do you have any punctuation pet peeves?

What punctuation mark do you think should get “aired” out and how would it be done?

Three Random Things

Today I am cranky and seemingly incapable of staying interested in anything for more than three seconds. For some reason, I feel the need to share that with you.

Anyway, three random things in no particular order.

Even though I just wrote about it, I’m really tired of hearing about food. There are entirely too many food shows, celebrity cookbooks and controversies. While I can get into a few of them, not every person on the planet needs to be videotaped while cooking and given a cheesy theme song.

For the record: Just because you’re famous for something else doesn’t mean you have culinary expertise.

Sometimes I press my luck and buy a $1 scratch off lottery ticket. How do I decide which one? First, I pick the one that has a cool theme. If none of them do, I pick the one that has the largest possible prize, as if I would be disappointed to win $4,000 instead of $5,000 on a ticket.

For the record I usually win nothing.

While I understand the religious tradition behind Easter–one of the most sacred days of the year for a lot of people–I don’t understand the rationale behind photo sessions in the mall with a mammoth creepy Easter Bunny that passes out eggs. At least make it a chicken so it’s more believable. Maybe I’ll write more about this later, maybe not. Remember that I’m cranky.

For the record: I think Jim Gaffigan summed it up best in one of his acts:

Female voice: Easter, the day Jesus rose from the dead. What should we do?

Male voice: How ’bout eggs?!

Female voice: Well, w-what does that have to do with Jesus?

Male voice: Alright, we’ll hide ’em.

Female voice: I don’t…I don’t follow your logic.

Male voice: Don’t worry, there’s a bunny.

And chocolate Cadbury eggs. I can get on board with that.

It’s the end of the week. Don’t think too hard.

What are your random things?

Well, That’s Awkward

I find it appropriate that even the word “awkward” is awkward to spell and to say. The more you look at it, the weirder it gets.

Anyway, I don’t know about you, but for me there are some situations that are awkward. They’re not embarrassing or anything, just uncomfortable.


I have a few examples of my own that I’ve noticed lately.

Bathroom Break

Of course bodily functions are going to make an appearance on this list, but don’t worry—nothing gross. The thing is that at work, we have a bathroom for both sexes right next to each other. While there are two stalls each, it’s basically a one-person-lock-the-door-and-do-whatever deal.

Because of where they’re located though, you are constantly passing people as they’re going into the bathroom. This doesn’t sound awkward, but it kind of is. You smile and say “hi”—even though you’ve seen that person  a dozen times already that day—just as they’re walking in to do their thing. We all know what they’re doing, we all do it, but it’s still just kind of weird.

* It’s also awkward when you pass that person going into the bathroom, get up 20 mins later to go find them and discover they’re still in there. However, they will come out at the exact second you are walking by the bathroom to go back. Avoid eye contact and shoot them an e-mail instead. 

Run the Water

There is also the “run the water” moment. This happens when a woman is in the bathroom (not on the toilet) and another walks in to pee. Do you keep doing what you’re doing or run the water so you don’t both have to listen to the stream? Do you make conversation while she’s peeing?

Let’s move on.

Graceful Exit

This is going to sound ridiculous, but part of the reason I don’t always enjoy going to social things is that I never know how to leave. I’m usually one of the first people to leave a party—either because I’m old, bored or not drinking—and I never really know how to make a graceful exit.  No matter what I do, it’s weird to leave. I usually wait for someone else to head out and just join in the good-byes with them—group support.

Random Run-Ins

It seems that whenever I run into someone randomly—at the grocery store, book store, etc.—I will continue to run into that person multiple times in the following minutes. The first time around, chit chat is fine and expected, but what about subsequent run-ins? If I just talked to you in produce, do I have to talk to you again in dairy and then again in the cereal aisle?

Even though they probably don’t expect me to acknowledge them every time, it still feels weird  to see them and not say anything. However, it doesn’t really feel as weird as seeing them for the fifth time in five minutes and pretending to have something new to say.


It sounds rude, but don’t tell me you’ve never seen someone you know in public (see above situation) and purposely avoided them. Sometimes you don’t want to get stuck talking, sometimes you look like you fell off the white trash train—whatever the reason—you’ve done this. I’ve even done this with people that I like.

What stinks is when you let down your guard for one minute—maybe you sneeze, both blacking you out for a second and drawing attention to yourself—and they make their way over. They mention they saw you earlier but you must have missed their wave.

Nod. Yes, that’s exactly what happened.

Stick with that.

Miscellaneous Awkwardness

When you’re walking somewhere—a hallway, an aisle, etc.—and someone you know is really far away, but you don’t want to make eye contact too soon. However,  you don’t want to miss it, so you look at them then quickly look away, then look up again a second later.

Watching a movie rated anything above PG with people you’re not that familiar with and having a steamy scene last a little too long. 

Recognizing sexual innuendo (and perhaps giggling) when no one else does.

Giving an automatic reply, such as “You too,” “Love ya, “ etc. in situations where it absolutely makes no sense.


Saying goodbye to someone and then continuing to walk the same way as that person.           

Like I said, these are just a couple that I’ve come across lately. They’re not embarrassing, just uncomfortable—much like typing the work “awkward” entirely too much. But I’ll do it two more times…

To avoid that awkward blog silence, tell me I’m not alone in this. Do you have any reoccurring slightly awkward moments to share?                       

Chit Chat

I have discovered that I don’t do well with small talk.

While I can carry on these obligatory pleasantries with the best of them, I can’t help but feel that it all seems very forced and formulaic. And if you know anything about me past my love of baseball and green vegetables, you know that I abhor doing things “just to do them” or because I feel I have to. 

Superficiality is my karmic kryptonite.

If there isn’t a genuine motivation behind an action, my bullshit detector goes off and I lose interest. Warning signs may include me looking past your head, pretending to look busy at my computer, deep breathing (not in a creepy panting “What are you wearing?” phone call way though) and occasionally busting out in Trikonasana in an attempt to avoid my urge to shake you and scream, “What in the world do you want?”


This is Triangle pose, for those unable to pronounce Trikonasana in their head.

Don’t get me wrong.

If you are not a close friend of mine (this is not a small club) and are really interested in how my weekend was or how work is going, I would be delighted to briefly tell you about it with the understanding that you probably won’t remember anything I tell you by the next time that we talk.

Once this basic exchange is complete, please feel free to move on with your day. You are no longer obligated to engage in meaningless conversation with me about things you really have no interest in learning.

But if I’m feeling pressured politeness, I might then reciprocate with a brief inquiry myself, knowing full well that most of the time your motivation for asking a specific question is for the sole purpose of me asking you about that very topic.

“Hey Abby! Did you happen to go to the bar this weekend and get wicked twisted, waking up in a vintage Michael Bolton concert T-shirt with a new tattoo you don’t remember getting?”

“No, actually I didn’t.” (Insert dramatic pause as they wait for it….sigh.) “Did you?”

And there go five minutes of my life I will never get back.

This is not meant to sound harsh, but rather to point out the fact that a majority of time spent with people is full of superficial chit chat, small talk—things to fill a silence that supposedly speaks volumes about our inability to constantly communicate as a species.

While interaction is obviously necessary and something that I personally enjoy—at a genuine level—repeatedly having the same meaningless conversations with people tends to push me into concocting ideas on how I can telepathically repel bullets of bullshit like a pinball machine.

But I will always engage in the obligatory pleasantries required of me, as once in awhile people can surprise you—in a good way (not in a creepy panting “What are you wearing?” phone call way)—and I thrive on those fleeting moments of genuine connection. 

I actually crave relationships and care about (most) people at a level bordering on oversensitivity at times, even if I sometimes end up disappointed. That’s how I roll, and I make no apologies for that—at least not out loud.

It’s just that I pick and choose my emotional investments.

And if we both know that it’s filler, why fill it?

This is not to deter people from talking to me or ever commenting—quite the opposite, in fact. If you can be unapologetically honest and not feed me what you think I want to hear—whether it’s while blogging, working or talking to me on the street—you might have just been elevated from superficial small talker to a member of that very small club mentioned above.

We have good talks about life, food, sports, other people — I promise it’s worth it.

But life is short and sometimes, silence is golden (and much preferable to a blaring bullshit detector.)

Panty Raid

I see London, I see France. Let’s talk about some underpants.

The people of ShopSmart magazine conducted a telephone survey of 1,008 women 18 and older about intimate apparel. It turns out that women own an average of 21 pairs of underwear, and many say an ill-fitting or ugly pair can ruin their day.


Almost half of women (47 percent) said they feel sexier and more confident wearing a nice or special pair of panties.

(Side note: I hate the word “panties.”)

Anyway, the findings reported included:

  • 27 percent said their mood is affected by wearing an ill-fitting or unattractive pair of undies.
  • 10 percent of women own 35 or more pairs.
  • 65 percent buy neutral colors, with white being the most popular, followed by black and beige.
  • Overall, 46 percent of women say briefs are the style they wear the most often. However, women age 18-34 are more likely to wear the bikini style.
  • 56 percent of women fold their panties; 27 percent just toss them in the drawer.
  • 1 in 10 women admit that they will venture out of the house without underwear.
  • Half of women have complaints about the way their underwear fit, with "wedgies" (30 percent) topping that list, followed by "doesn’t lay flat under clothes" (19 percent) and "not enough coverage in the rear" (14 percent).

I conducted an informal survey with myself and the findings reported included:

  • I own a total of 64 pairs of underwear. This is ridiculous, as I only wear around 20. The others are either too small or uncomfortable in some way, yet I hold onto them like there will be a skivvy shortage any day now. (It’s weird because unlike pants or shirts, you can’t just donate them to Goodwill or something. Throwing them away seems wasteful in some way. Yes, that’s my excuse on this one.)
  • Clean is my favorite color. Fun designs catch my eye, but I don’t really sit around starting at my underwear, so it’s not of the utmost importance.
  • Women actually fold their underwear?
  • While I’m rather hippie-dippy on a lot of things, I don’t leave the house without my hand sanitizer, much less underwear. Who is this one person? Presumably not someone who folds her underwear. 
  • Wedgies are an issue, although I have no shame on fixing the situation in a stealth-like manner. “I would rather fix it and bear the shame than leave it there and bear the pain.” We all need a mantra.
  • “Not enough coverage in the rear?” My grandma once told me she was going to buy me padded panties to give me an actual ass, so lack of coverage is not an issue. Sigh…above or below.


Anything that causes discomfort can ruin your day, so an ill-fitting pair of underwear is no exception. The kicker is that I will usually forget how uncomfortable they were after I wash them and find them in the back of my drawer months later and wonder, “Why don’t I ever wear these anymore?” Then I’m forced to chant my mantra until I get home, throw them in the wash and forget about them again.

Thus, the cycle continues.

Ugly underwear don’t have the power to sway my day, at least they haven’t yet, and I don’t really feel some superpower from wearing something fancy. This could be because I don’t (usually) prance around in my underwear. But it’s true that when I feel good and confident in whatever I have on, it just translates into everything else I do.

(Another side note: Truthfully? If I still looked the way I used to and was given the option, I would be an underwear/sexy costume/runway model in a heartbeat. I love occasionally wearing something that let’s me show my inner sass on the outside and yes, I am an attention whore at times.)

But admit it ladies.

We all have the “special” drawer of underwear that we go to when we want to put a little extra pep in the step, am I right?


Everyone should have a special drawer filled with something small (or medium, or large) you can do for yourself that no one has to know about. Even if no one ever sees the contents of it in action, a little extra color or some leopard print design might be just what you need to get your proverbial panties out of a bunch some days.

And while some days I wish there was a pair of underwear I could slip on that would magically help me find an emotional balance somewhere between a thong and granny panties, so to speak, I know you can’t expect miracles from underwear.

Ask my push-up bra.

How do you rank with the survey results—not mine, but the actual survey?

Do you have a favorite pair? A lucky pair?


Reality Check, Aisle One

Last night was evidently “take your screaming child to Target night,” something I was unaware of when I set out on my journey to distract myself and find things to buy that I didn’t know I needed.

And although I set out to Target as a form of healthy distraction, it ended up being quite a workout. See, I had the unfortunate pleasure of spotting someone I knew in the store and would have preferred not to run into, therefore mandating generic conversation and awkward smiles (even the word “awkward” is awkward, no?)

I’m really not that anti-social, but to be honest, I couldn’t remember her first name for the life of me.

So while I entered the store and began browsing the clothes (sidebar: Is it just me, or do today’s “fashions” suck? I’m not into clothes, but these were ridiculous.) Where was I? While I was browsing the “clothes,” I had my first encounter with aforementioned screaming child. This particular midget was trouncing up and down a row of shirts, randomly pulling them off as she passed—and accenting each successful attempt with a delighted shriek.

I was somehow convinced that my leer towards her mother would jar her back to the sad reality that her child was a monster, but no luck. Mom was oblivious to both her child, the evil eye I was shooting her way and the fact that the clothes she was looking at were hideous.

So I journeyed on to the home department where I can spend endless minutes convincing myself that I need a new drawer organizer or Glade Plug-In just because it looks neat or smells good (this is also my criteria for dating and eating, by the way.)

That’s when I saw her—I say “her,” because I couldn’t remember her name.

Ironically enough, she had her own cart of offspring that were starting to get antsy themselves, whining in a way that would soon escalate into boredom-induced bellows. At any rate, I quickly darted to the next aisle, narrowly missing a run-in that would have my brain racing for her name and my mouth spouting generic “hey you” and other avoidance addresses.

It was like I was a magnet.

I went to the bathroom accessories, she made her way to the bathroom accessories. I scampered over to the kitchen appliances like a maniac, she calmly wheeled her brood over to the kitchen appliances. An encounter seemed inevitable, and my brain was still searching for her damn name.

It was like my brain was an anti-magnet for recollection and sanity.

So I hiked it over to the Halloween section and was greeted by not scary costumes, but scary children screeching about what they wanted to dress up as. Right then. Not at Halloween, but right there in the aisle. Harried parents were looking longingly at the prop weapons while their children ran around with pumpkin buckets on their heads.

OK. Maybe I was looking longingly at the prop weapons.

Soon enough the nameless wonder made her way towards the costumes, inciting a minor riot from the two kids in her cart. I quickly made my escape around the back and through the candy aisle—there might have been a slight diversion here—and found myself free from the ties that would bind me to social etiquette.

I grabbed my big purchase for the evening—no fun foods, cute clothes or much-needed make-up, but rather hair mousse for the few strands I have left—and breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way to the register.

My eyes scanned the scene, still on the lookout for the nameless wonder—confirmation was still negative. So I moved up to pay for my mousse and made small talk with the cashier, dropping a couple sarcastic remarks about the plethora of screaming children that were seemingly invading our precious Target on that Friday night.

She remarked that a little girl had come through her lane earlier and said nothing, just stared at her, and then proceeded to start screaming at the top of her lungs until the mother put the princess crown from the cart on her head.

I suggested the cashier keep one behind the counter to plop on the heads of subsequent screaming children (and possibly adults,) and she laughed. It was at that time I looked down at her name tag—Marie.

Yes my friends, the same name as the person I had worked so hard to avoid throughout my journey.

It was like a weight had been lifted off my bony shoulders at that moment of recognition. In fact, it felt so great I was tempted to journey back into the store and leisurely make my way through the aisles, no longer afraid of an amnesic encounter.

As a child’s size shoe zoomed past my head and a mother’s pleading warning to said footwear hurler cut through my fantasy, I grabbed my mousse and headed home.

Reality check, aisle one.

I know, I’m wild and crazy going to Target on a Friday night. How did you spend yours? Anything you go to Target for specifically, or do you randomly roam like I do?

Another round of FYIs

I haven’t felt much like blogging lately, so I thought I would compile another rousing round of FYIs. Instead I came up with these…

The best way to make yourself feel better about having to wait in a long line is to look at the people behind you. You’re ahead. Gloat a little.

It’s perfectly acceptable to wait in a long line to see the winner of ArtPrize, especially considering the fact that it made “The Today Show” a couple times.

Teeth are jewels, not tools.

Maybe you only need to be good at one thing? Good to know, but I have to find that thing, as practicality often trumps passion. Let’s move on to pretty colors…

Fall really is beautiful in Michigan and the perfect time to go for a hayride through one of your favorite towns.

rockford1However, tripping and falling face first into the side of one of the horses is not a pleasant experience. (At least that’s what the woman who face-planted into the sweaty side of the Clydesdale said.)

A lot of times I think I really want something, but then when I get the opportunity to possibly attain it, I get freaked out and don’t want it anymore. I’m working on this (this is not related to the hayride mentioned above. Or teeth, although I value my teeth immensely.)

My blog world and real world are starting to collide, and this doesn’t make me happy. The end.

I know I’m not one to talk, but sometimes celebrities just look creepy when they get skinny (Drew Carey, Al Roker and Alton Brown come to mind.)


al (But he did do the ArtPrize story, so he gets some credit.)

Free popcorn is like crack to senior citizens. Get out of the way, or get your toes run over—nuns are not exempt from this maniacal phenomenon.

A little integrity is better than any career.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson

I really want to like “The Office” this season, but it’s just not happening.

This week I have been summoned for jury duty. To prepare, I plan on watching the judges on “The Next Iron Chef” tonight and taking meticulous notes (yes, it will have skinny Alton Brown.)

And also this crazy, self-absorbed “Duskie” lady who scares me, even when she’s not holding sharp objects.  I’m all about local food, but wearing pigtails…really?

“We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.” –Anais Nin

There are  times I don’t feel like going and doing something “social,”  but then half the time I end up enjoying myself and wondering why I don’t do it more often. However, that does leave the other half of the time. I suppose it evens out.

The “clean house” smell you spent a couple hours working on will be instantly negated by cooking salmon. However, it’s worth it (plus, if you drop any on the floor, you feel better about picking it up and popping it in your mouth.)

This just makes me laugh.


So now it’s your turn. Give me something to look forward to reading when I get home from a day of civic duty.

What are your FYIs?